Three Doors Down
by FindingRainbows
Summary: Sherlock was the victim of Sod's Law and that was story finished originally but then I thought he should really find out what is going on with the post. What is happening three doors down? FRIENDSHIP going on here. Hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Sod's Law Slippage

A/N Ooooo haven't been here in a while. Found this on my computer and thought I'd post it up. As always, I hope you enjoy :-)

"John, I could do with some assistance"

"Yeah, well, we have got a bit of a problem..." John looked up from the table to where Sherlock stood bleeding in the doorway, "Oh my...what happened to you?"

"Ice," Sherlock grimaced as both John and Mrs Hudson motioned to see his injuries more closely; he had a gash on his forehead and was clutching his arm, "I imagine Mycroft is somewhere watching the whole ungraceful slip on a loop."

"You ought to be more careful. Rushing about," Mrs Hudson chastised gently as she guided the detective into a nearby chair.

John had finished his assessment of his friends head, "This isn't too deep. Just needs a good clean."

"Excellent," Sherlock stated flatly, "Let's do that then."

John smiled slightly, "Hang on, I'm not blind; your arm?"

"Hmm, we need to get you out of that coat," Mrs Hudson agreed.

The next few minutes were a struggle as John and Mrs Hudson tried their upmost to free Sherlock's arm from his clothes and he tried his hardest to hide the pain.

John didn't even need a second to diagnose though, "Yeah, that's broken."

Sherlock groaned, "I want a second opinion."

"It's broken," Mrs Hudson nodded completely ignoring the glare that trained on her.

John chuckled, "Your third opinion can come from the hospital."

"I hate hospitals."

"Sure you do; St Bart's is like your second home."

"I hate waiting rooms."

John scoffed "News flash, Sherlock, no one likes them."

"Well, the sooner you go, the sooner you can get back," Mrs Hudson said as she lightly draped Sherlock's jacket back around his shoulders.

Sherlock stood up slowly, nodding his head towards the paperwork on the table, "What did you need my help with?"

"Doesn't matter now," John told him, "It can wait until we get back."

Sherlock gaze left the table and found John's face, "We?"

"What?"

"I am capable of going to the hospital alone."

John studied his friends face; Sherlock looked slightly perplexed. He sighed, " I know that you can go on your own but, you know, you don't have to."

"Yeah, no one should have to do all that waiting around on their own," Mrs Hudson agreed.

"Always done it before," Sherlock stated.

"Well, now is different," John smiled, "I volunteer to get bored with you."

"You're strange."

John laughed, "The words 'pot' and 'kettle' spring to mind." He shrugged on his coat, "Now, let's get moving shall we?"

...

"John, I'm bored."

John shifted in his uncomfortable seat and flicked onto a new page of the year old magazine he'd managed to find lying around.

"John."

"I gave you the crossword."

"Ridiculous questions. Useless information."

"Have a go at the Sudoku then."

"Already done," Sherlock groaned and John rolled his eyes although he instantly regretted doing so when he actually looked at his friend. They had been waiting a good hour for the x-ray and truth be told Sherlock was doing better with the waiting than John had expected. It was only now that he had begun complaining and whilst John knew that boredom would be a big factor it was clear that the detective was also in quite a bit of discomfort and pain. John shut his magazine.

"Right, there must be-"

"What did you need my help with?" Sherlock interrupted.

John thought for a moment, "This may actually cheer you up whilst providing a distraction."

"What?"

John smirked, "Sherlock, me and Mrs Hudson have come to the conclusion that you will have to sort out the post issue."

"Post issue?"

"Yes. You may not have...no, wait, you won't have noticed but our post keeps on being delivered to the wrong address."

"Does it?"

John scoffed, "Yeah, I have to go and collect it from three doors down before you stab it to the mantel piece."

"I don't understand the problem."

"That is the problem, Sherlock."

"Stabbing the post to the mantel piece?"

"No. No, Sherlock," John shook his head; he was beginning to wish he hadn't started this, "Well, yes, that is a problem because it upsets Mrs Hudson but that isn't this problem."

"John, this is neither cheering me up nor distracting me."

"If you would listen," John persevered, "Mrs Hudson and I have nominated you to go down to the post office and make sure that our post gets delivered to our house."

Sherlock almost groaned aloud, "That's it? I still fail to-"

"You can be as rude as you like," John unexpectedly interrupted.

There was a pause where John thought Sherlock hadn't quite heard him but then he simply said, "explain."

John smiled because he knew he had his friend's complete attention now or so he thought, "I cannot count the amount of times I have rung up the post office to try and resolve the issue and every time I have got nowhere so yesterday Mrs Hudson went down there."

"Is this why I didn't get my liver?"

"Is this why...what? Sherlock, I thought you wanted an explanation."

"You were taking too long," Sherlock wafted the hand of his unbroken arm dismissively, "Is it why I didn't get my liver?"

John sighed, "Your liver nearly ended up getting us reported; Mr and Mrs Higgins did not appreciate organs through their letterbox."

"Why did Mr and Mrs Higgins have my liver?"

"They live three doors down," John was frustrated now, "I swear talking to you is like talking to a child sometimes. For once will you just listen?"

Sherlock had the decency to look chastised, "Go on, John."

"Thank you. Mrs Hudson went down to the office where she was patronised and shouted at by some little upstart and then palmed off with some undecipherable, pointless paperwork about confirming our address. I was going to go back down there tomorrow and tell them where to shove it but I think you can have the pleasure, if you like?"

John could see that despite an edge of pain, there was now definitely some amusement dancing in Sherlock's eyes, "I am not sure if that's a job I can do, John?" he smirked.

"No, no, you're right," John nodded his head, "Completely out of the realms of your capabilities."

They both looked at each other in mock seriousness before laughing although this made Sherlock inadvertently move his arm and he could not suppress a small howl of pain from escaping his lips.

John winced in sympathy."It shouldn't be too much longer now," he said as he helped Sherlock try and support his arm in a more comfortable position.

"I hate this," Sherlock gritted as he closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair.

"Nobody likes this."

"Slows down everything," Sherlock said under his breath, "useless transport."

"It's only one arm, Sherlock. Your left one at that."

"Never broke an arm before."

"Really?" John asked. He was quite surprised that given Sherlock's complete lack of safety awareness that the man hadn't broken every bone in his body at least once before.

"Fingers but never an arm. Foot but never a leg. Concussion twice. Stabbed once."

"Arm, dislocated shoulder and shot."

"Almost been shot."

John snorted, "I think if we started listing the things we almost ended up in hospital for we'd be here a while."

"Overdose," Sherlock said opening his eyes. John knew that was not an 'almost'.

The topic of drug use was one that was skirted around in the Baker Street household. John knew the bare minimum which had mostly come from Mycroft and Lestrade rather than Sherlock so he was always surprised when his friend referenced the subject himself. He waited to see if the detective would say more.

"Wasn't even on a case," Sherlock groaned.

John furrowed his brow, "I thought that's why..."

"I mean now, John. This," he said pointing at his broken arm, "I wasn't even being reckless."

"Oh," John sighed; he couldn't help being a little disappointed that Sherlock hadn't expanded on the drugs issue, "Sods law."

"Sod's what?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock Holmes!" A shout suddenly cut through the waiting room as a nurse walked towards them holding a clipboard.

"About time," Sherlock muttered loudly as he began to stand up a bit too quickly.

"Carefully," John advised putting a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock unexpectedly looked John straight in the eye and close to a whisper he said, "Once. Only once. Never again."

John knew what he was saying and nodded. "Never again," he agreed giving Sherlock's shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"Mr Holmes?" the nurse asked as she reached the two men.

"That would be me," Sherlock replied, "It's about time you were here."

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock. Not good."

...


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning," John called as he shuffled into the kitchen, straight towards the kettle, "Tea?"

"Hmm," Sherlock responded from his seated position in the window, "What time does the postman normally arrive, John?"

John looked across towards his friend. "Not at 9 in the morning," he replied. He watched as Sherlock hopped out of the window and started towards the kitchen table, "How's your arm?"

"Boring," Sherlock told him as he shuffled rather clumsily though the papers on the table, "These forms are stupid."

"Huh?" John had completely forgotten about the Post Office issue but remembered quickly as Sherlock all but shoved the forms into his face, "Oh right, yes."

"Our address is 221b. I am assuming our post gets labelled as such?"

"99.9% of the time, yes," John nodded as he poured water into two surprising clean cups.

"So why have we been given these forms?"

"We weren't."

"What?"

John turned to look at Sherlock pointedly, "Mrs Hudson."

There was a brief second where Sherlock digested this and then there was that familiar glint in his eyes, "Mrs Hudson lives at 221a so they want her to re-confirm she would like her post to be delivered to 221b because that is the number on the door."

"That's basically it, yeah," John confirmed as he handed over Sherlock's tea.

"But that does not account for Mrs Hudson's or our post currently being delivered three doors down."

"You try telling them that."

"I have more research to do first."

"Research?"

"I am going to observe the postman."

John's eyebrows raised; Sherlock was taking this a little more seriously than he thought he would. However, John knew not to question it since he did want his friend's help and anything to distract the man from becoming bored, especially while injured.

"Ok. He's usually about around 12," John told him. Sherlock nodded and then began walking towards his room, "Are you going for a shower?" John asked making the detective stop, "because you need a bag."

Sherlock waited while John reached into a cupboard and grabbed a plastic bag; he then proceeded to try and place it over Sherlock's plastered arm.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock groaned although he did move to make the task easier for John.

"You can't allow it to get wet," John said and then after a moment he added, "You also can't use it for experiments."

Sherlock smirked, "You spoil all the fun."

...

John went and got himself showered and dressed too. Upon his return to the living room he almost bumped into Sherlock's brother, "Mycroft," John said somewhat surprised, "Are you well?"

"I am, thank you, John," Mycroft replied, smoothly.

"Would you like a drink?" John asked gesturing towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you. I am not planning on staying long. Just thought I would pop by to check on Sherlock."

"Well, I'm fine," Sherlock stated as he appeared behind him, "You can go now."

"Now, now, Sherlock," Mycroft drawled as he rocked on his umbrella, "After your quite spectacular slip, yesterday, did you not expect me to be concerned?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and growled. He turned straight on his heal, "I'm going to get dressed."

Mycroft watch him leave as though analysing his every move. After a moment, he turned back to John who had decided to leave to the two Holmes' too it in order to sit and read the paper, "Right, I best be getting on; meetings to attend."

John looked up, "See you."

"Look after him, John," Mycroft said as he began to leave just as someone else was coming up the stairs, "Ah good morning, Inspector."

"Morning, Mycroft," Lestrade replied. Mycroft continued passed him and out of the door.

"Greg," John greeted the inspector.

"Got your text; I came to drop off those files," Lestrade told him, handing over a few folders bursting with paperwork.

"Ah, thanks," John took them gratefully, "We seem to be ok at the moment."

"Well, they are there should you need them."

"Cheers," John thanked him again but then they were both interrupted by Sherlock entering the room with his shirt half done up and a rather irritated look on his face, "Sherlock what are you-"

Sherlock pulled at his shirt front, "I can't seem to-"

"Here," Lestrade cut him off as he realised the younger man's predicament and began to do up his shirt buttons properly, "Couldn't have thought to wear something without buttons?"

"No."

John laughed but catching Sherlock's rather unimpressed expression, he said "He's got to look smart. He is on a case."

"Oh yeah?" Lestrade asked, finishing off the last of the buttons.

"Case of the wrongly delivered post," Sherlock replied, bouncing on his heals a little and then turning to return to his room.

"You actually got him involved?" Lestrade was surprised.

John shrugged, "I told him he could be as rude as he likes to the post office staff."

"Really? You do want your post to be delivered, don't you?" Lestrade chuckled but was quite serious.

"Yeah," John told him, "he won't be _rude_ rude. Well, not on purpose anyway. He's too... proper to be actually rude."

Lestrade nodded, "Are you hoping he'll scare them into submission?"

John snorted, "Something like that."

Sherlock re-entered the room, complete with his suit jacket. "Why are you bringing round old case files?" he asked Lestrade, reaching over John and taking one off the doctor's knee.

"John thought you could do with a distraction," Lestrade shrugged as John gave him a 'what did you tell him that for?' glare.

"A broken arm is nothing but a minor inconvenience, John," Sherlock said sharply. He flicked through the file in his hand then thrust it towards the inspector, "This was Mr Brown, with the knife, in the dining room. How dull."

"How Cluedo," Lestrade said taking the folder.

"What?" Sherlock quirked his brow.

"Cluedo," Lestrade repeated but looking at the detective's face 'not hearing' wasn't the issue, "Don't tell me you've never played Cluedo? You of all people. I...John?"

"What?" John responded defensively, "I've played Cluedo. I think I even have it somewhere."

"And you never thought to play it with Sherlock?"

"Have you ever thought to play a board game with Sherlock?"

"Touche," Lestrade replied and both he and John laughed.

"Right, well, I should get back to the yard. See you later," Lestrade said.

"See you," John called after him as he went swiftly down the stairs and out the door, "And thanks again." The doctor yawned and then glanced over to see where Sherlock had gone, only to find his friend perched back in the window sill, "What are you doing?"

"Watching for the postman."

"Sherlock, I told you it would be around 12," John reminded him but he wasn't for moving, it seemed, "Nevermind. I wonder if I do still have that Cluedo?"

...


End file.
